


Achingly Human (And Drenched in Sin)

by Merrinpippy



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Confessional, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor's feelings of unworthiness after having been controlled by CyberLife, Connor-centric, Guilt, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pre-Love Confession, Religion, not too heavy religion though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 18:31:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merrinpippy/pseuds/Merrinpippy
Summary: Hank had thought it funny that androids could believe in a kind of God, but now, Connor’s not sure what to believe. RA9 can’t help him, real or not. He has so much guilt, so much… sin. Confessing to a priest is the way humans- or at least, the majority of humans in this particular area- confront their own sin. So maybe it will help him. Maybe it will make him more human.Or maybe he’s just grasping at straws.





	Achingly Human (And Drenched in Sin)

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, it's been a while. Bonus points to anyone who can figure out why I chose that particular name for the priest.

Connor’s not entirely sure how he ended up here, of all places. A patchy cathedral with once-beautiful crenellations and stained glass windows, now marred with rust and holes and tarp to keep out first the cold of winter, and then the cold of spring. Connor’s been here before. But not like this. 

_ One message from Markus. View?  _

Connor pushes the notification away. 

Hank had thought it funny that androids could believe in a kind of God, but now, Connor’s not sure what to believe. RA9 can’t help him, real or not. He has so much guilt, so much… sin. This is the way humans- or at least, the majority of humans in this particular area- confront their own sin. So maybe it will help him. Maybe it will make  _ him  _ more human. 

Or maybe he’s just grasping at straws. 

“I’ve never had an android confess to me before,” the priest says, one thin layer of wood away. 

Connor had scanned him already without even meaning to. Rev. Angus Justin, age 75. Father of two children, wife deceased. Thinning hair, sallow face, warm eyes. As healthy as one could be at his age. Connor hadn’t wanted to know that, but so far he hasn’t quite figured out how to stop automatically scanning people he sees. He can’t find the protocol for it in his programming; Hank had laughed and said he’d made a bad habit. Connor’s lip twitches at the reminder. 

“I’ve never confessed before,” Connor says. “Looks like it’s a first for both of us.” 

“Do you…” Father Justin hesitates on the other side of the lattice. “Do you actually believe in God? Or are you just going through the motions?” He sounds apologetic, like he doesn’t want to offend Connor, but also genuinely curious. He shouldn’t worry. Connor doesn’t take offense to much these days, and probably deserves what he is offended by. 

“I’m not sure,” Connor says. “I’m just looking for… understanding.” But that’s not entirely right. Connor frowns at his inability to pick the right word.

Father Justin seems to have noticed the same thing. Connor runs the sentence through in his head and realises he’d phrased it as a question. “Is that really what you’re looking for?” Justin asks. 

Connor is silent while he considers this. What is he looking for exactly? He has sins to confess, but what is he getting out of confessing? “I think I’m looking for someone who will listen to what I have to say and not be… biased. There are things I haven’t told anyone… I don’t want them to see me differently. But I also don’t want them to ignore it- I guess I… I want to be judged. But judged fairly.” 

A creak in the wood of the confessional as Justin shifts his weight. “The Holy Father already knows everything you’ve done. He knows everything all his creations have done. And he loves us all unconditionally. If you are truly sorry for your sins, he will absolve you of them.”

Connor takes a moment to process this. “Perhaps I should not have come here,” Conner says aloud. He does not want to be loved unconditionally, especially not by a being who he does not entirely believed in. He wants to be heard. He wants to be judged. 

“I won’t keep you here if you decide you want to go,” Father Justin tells him quickly. “But you sound like a man with something to get off his chest, and if nothing else, I can help you with that.” 

Connor lets out a small sigh, a habit he’s probably learned from Hank. Or from Reed. Or from being alive in general. Right. No point getting cold feet at the last second, as Hank would say, though Hank had thought the metaphor lost on Connor when he’d said it. In truth, Connor’s had far too much experience with the cold far too recently. Connor doesn’t like the cold, he’s decided, and he does not like cold feet. 

“Okay,” Connor says, strained. “I’ll stay. For now.” 

“Alright,” Justin replies, his voice sounding warmer already. “What plagues your mind?” 

Connor feels himself deflate, the shame of what he’s about to say getting the better of him. The wood creaks in response, but he barely hears it. “I… I’ve betrayed my people. I’m not like them. I always see them- saw them- as machines, like me, and I hurt them because of it. The very first thing I did when I was active was kill someone- I didn’t think he was alive at the time, but that doesn’t excuse it. He’s dead because of me.” 

Connor takes a deep breath of musty air, but his next words are cut off by the priest.

“You’re not just any android, are you?” 

Connor chokes out a bitter laugh. “No,” he says truthfully. “I’m not.” 

“Is there more?” 

“Too much more.” 

“Then by all means continue.” 

Connor nods, though the priest can’t see him. It’s as much for himself as anything else. “I nearly caught and killed a woman with her  _ child.  _ A little girl. They were so scared of me that they nearly killed themselves on a busy road to escape.”

“You do mean an android woman and an android child, yes?” Justin interrupts.

Connor bristles. “Yes,” he says shortly. “The difference?” 

“A large one,” Justin answers. If Connor isn’t mistaken there’s a smile in his voice. “But I’ll enlighten you in a moment. You sound as if you’re not done.” 

Connor’s eyes narrow at the priest’s conversational tone, as if he’s not taking this as seriously anymore. “I’m not.” And then, petulantly, “I don’t even know the number of people I’ve killed. Because I was determined to finish my mission no matter what the cost, I invaded the sanctuary of innocent deviants and I made them blow it up to salvage what they could. I had my gun on him…” Connor trails off, no longer petulant. Haunted. 

“I didn’t hear that last part,” Justin coaxes. Connor’s 63% sure he’s lying. 

“I had my gun trained on him. I nearly shot him there on the boat,” Connor says, staring straight ahead into the memory of meeting Markus for the first time. “I walked among them all, thinking of the best way to get them all killed, and then I met him… and everything crumbled apart in front of me. I was alive, but- I’d done so many bad things already.”

“This man, he made you deviate from your programming?” 

“Yes. He… he allowed me to think for myself, to break free from my programming and follow a better cause. He saved me, trusted me, convinced the others to trust me too. I can’t describe how much he…” Connor sighs. “Anyway. That’s not the point.” 

“It sounds like you already believe in a God, son,” says Justin. 

Connor feels heat rush to his face, his programming rushing to display his emotions on the outside when it really doesn’t need to. Embarrassment. Well… he’s not entirely wrong. 

“And yet, I still nearly shot him even after that. Even after he gave me shelter in this very church,” Connor says, rueful. 

An audible intake of breath on the other side of the lattice. “You’re talking about Markus Manfred,” says Justin, voice awed. “The leader of the deviants. They used this church as a safe haven before the battle of detroit, even helped us rebuild it afterwards. Some of them still come here because they find the space comforting.” 

“Yes,” Connor agrees. “It was one of them who recommended coming here to me.”

“None of them have confessed to me yet, however.” 

“None of them have any sins  _ to  _ confess,” Connor counters. 

“I have yet to hear any from you, even now,” says Father Justin. “Please, continue. I rudely interrupted you.” 

Connor frowns, confused at Justin’s first statement. But he does comply. “I nearly shot him on that stage, while he was giving his speech. I drew my gun. Had my finger on the trigger. I nearly…” Connor pauses, surprised as a wave of guilt crashes over him. “I nearly killed him,” he whispers. 

“Why?” 

“What?” 

“Why did you nearly kill him?” 

Connor feels a sickness in his chest that he’s learned to associate with thoughts of CyberLife, Amanda, and the Zen Garden. “They regained control of my programming- I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t move, I… I was nearly too late to save him. Save him from myself,” Connor finishes bitterly. “And I’ve had it on the tip of my tongue every time I’ve been near him since. He’s been so good to me- he’s spent nearly all of his free time recently with me. He’s trying to teach me to be human, by taking me to coffee shops and beach weekends and things like that, and he’s been so open and kind and trusting, and I can’t even-” Connor grits his teeth together. “I don’t deserve him. Not after what I’ve done.” 

The priest is silent for a few moments, and Connor doesn’t dare break the silence first. He’s always had the need for tactile stimulation, especially when agitated, and when he looks down through the low light he realises that his fingers have been fiddling with the edge of the seat without him noticing. If he were human, the rough wood would have given him splinters by now. As it is, Connor just brushes the tiny pieces away. 

When Justin does finally speak, it’s not what Connor expects him to say. 

“You’re just as human as the rest of us,” Justin says like a laugh, but then sobers instantly. “It sounds to me as if none of that was your fault, son. If you were human I’d say it sounds like you were indoctrinated into some kind of cult, but since you’re an android- well. You weren’t indoctrinated, you didn’t have a chance in the first place. You were born in darkness, but you clawed your way out anyway. We call people like you a victim, to whom we offer protection and love. The ones who made you do all that stuff? All those sins belong to them.” 

“You… you think so?” Connor’s voice sounds smaller than usual. It makes him feel vulnerable.

“Unquestionably. You spoke about those androids as if they were truly human- your empathy is what causes you to feel you’ve sinned, and proves that you are free of sin in the first place. The only thing I can forgive you for is keeping this from Markus in the first place,” Justin says. “You say he’s been teaching you how to be human? Boy, you sound like you’re in the most human predicament possible.” 

“I don’t understand-” 

“You’re in love with him!”

Connor stares at nothing, wide-eyed. Long seconds pass. 

“... Aren’t you?” 

Connor feels a dust mote settle on his nose, and he thinks of days ago when he sat across a table from Markus playing chess, cold sunlight filtering through the curtains and bathing Markus in a shimmering pool of dust in the air. He looked so achingly human, so achingly  _ beautiful  _ that Connor had lost a game to distraction, and when Connor told him so he laughed and blushed and made Connor’s chest tighten further. 

He thinks of that weekend at the beach where Connor had finally felt rid of the cold. Markus had seen the scars on his shirtless torso where the artificial skin couldn’t smooth over them, and held him with such compassion even though they were scars gotten by  _ hunting  _ him. He remembers how Markus had bought them both ice cream, and Markus had asked him to try to taste it naturally without analysing everything in it, and asked so sweetly that Connor had tried as hard as he was able. And when he’d failed, and felt wrong and distant and unworthy because of it, Markus had taken his face in his hands and told him it was just another thing that made Connor  _ Connor.  _

He thinks of the message he’d received this morning from Markus: 

_ Connor! Hank called me, he said you were shot on the job and you stitched the wound up yourself! We have doctors here who would have jumped at the honour to aid you. Why didn’t you tell me? What if I had lost you? I- damn it, I’ve got a meeting. Just- call me, okay? I want to make sure you’re alright myself.  _

There’s still blue blood on his shirt. He’s still not sure he’s healed correctly, and he remembers quite clearly how the message had sent him on his path straight here. No, he couldn’t go to Jericho with his wound, and he couldn’t go to CyberLife either. It seemed so hypocritical- he’d killed so many of theirs, but he’d ask them to patch him up when he was only mildly injured? 

Even now, Connor has missed two messages from Markus in the time it’s taken to come here. Connor can’t bring himself to look at them yet.

How could Markus care about him so?  _ Him?  _ He’s unworthy of everything Markus gives him. The saviour of the deviants, and the deviant hunter, drenched in sin and the betrayal of his people. 

But he doesn’t  _ want  _ to be.

“Yes,” he realises, after a long time in the dark. “I am.” 

Justin huffs a laugh. “You know, it seems to me that you didn’t really come here seeking judgement. It seems to me that you came here seeking  _ permission.”  _

Connor freezes up. Permission? To- with  _ Markus?  _

Being in love with Markus is one thing, but the likelihood of Markus actually wanting him back? 

“Tell you what,” Justin says. Connor blinks out of his thoughts, and Justin takes his silence as an indication to continue. “Lying is a sin. But you’ve shown that you’re remorseful, and that you want to be better. You will be absolved of your sins on one condition: tell Markus the truth about how you feel and end the lies.”

Connor considers this. It sounds… too easy. “If I tell Markus the truth,” he says, dubiously, “then I’ll be…?” 

“Free of sin once more.” 

“But what about the guilt?” And what if Markus doesn’t feel the same about him afterwards? 

The answer to that one isn’t as quick. “Oh, my child,” Justin sighs. “There I cannot help you. For that, you will need to forgive yourself.” 

Connor reaches for the coin in his pocket, gaining comfort from its weight. “I’m not sure I can do that,” he admits. “But I will tell Markus the truth. I owe him that, at least.” 

“Good. Good.” Justin radiates approval. The wood creaks, indicating that the man has stood. “If you do stop by again, feel free to ask for me. My door is always open to you, and to your kind.” 

“Thank you,” Connor says. He pushes his own door open. It seems much lighter than it was when he entered, though his interface informs him that is not the case. Deviancy and its many quirks. 

He has the entire taxi journey to Jericho to mull over his confession, and then, he supposes, he’ll do it all again. 

He messages Markus:  _ I’m on my way. I have something to tell you. Please don’t be upset. I didn’t mean to keep that from you.  _

Markus messages him back within the minute.

_ That’s not ominous at all.  _

And then,

_ Please tell me when you’re here. You’ve had me worried sick.  _

Connor says:  _ I’m sorry.  _

Markus says:  _ I forgive you. I always do.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a comment or find me on tumblr @merrinpippy where I welcome prompts and discussion of anything even remotely DBH related! :)


End file.
